Workbench Mourning - A Grandfather's Elegy
Samantha Segrist
after Ross Gay
​
I never knew you
but I know your workbench,
the place where my father
kneels and traces
the outline of a screwdriver
over and over,
hoping with each outline
that you will materialize
and ask him for a 3/8-inch wrench
only for him to bring you
a 7/16-inch wrench instead.
I never knew you
but I know my father,
the person you
worked so tirelessly for.
The same shoulders shake
as jokes tumble down them,
sending laughter, like landslides,
into the next generation.
The same feet walk,
arches weighed down with hard work
that lightens the load
for the next generation.
The same ears listen
to stories written
with the joy and worry
that our family knows all too well.
These parts of you
live on in my father,
a place where I will someday
kneel and trace
his prized possessions
so that his memory might live
on in mine.
It is hard to mourn someone
you never knew,
so instead of mourning
that I never will,
I am grateful to know
your jokes, hard work, and listening nature
live on
in the individual kneeling
before your workbench.
Contributor's Note
Samantha Segrist is a senior studying Applied Communication Studies. She does not know what she wants to do with her life, but that is okay. She is deciding to trust where God will take her, because His ways are good even when they are unknown. She wants to thank her parents, her boyfriend, her friends, her dog, and her cat for everything they have done and for the people (and animals) that they are.
